


Power Trip

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair deals with a wealthy man who doesn't know how to take no for an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Trip

## Power Trip

By Grey

Author's homepage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

* * *

Notes: This is a revised version of the CTYS 8 zine story. 

Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever. 

Summary: Blair deals with a wealthy man who doesn't know how to take no for an answer. 

Warning: This deals with sexual assault. 

* * *

Auto case files ran a pitiful second in the fast paced world of Jim Ellison's daydreams. All morning he drifted in and out of a mental paradise, traveling through an erotic showcase of Blair Sandburg in various stages of undress and tantalizing positions. Full color images of his young guide shoved forward across the desk, jeans down and legs spread overlapped visions of that same pair of rounded cheeks, slick and soaped up in the shower, hot and hungry and begging for cock. Jim's whole body tightened at the thoughts running unchecked and randy in his head. 

Fuck case files. He wanted his partner and didn't have a clue what to do about it. Thank god he had a closet full of long, loose sweaters. 

"Ellison, my office." The captain's low raspy voice startled him for a moment and he set the files down. Shifting up carefully, he walked past Simon Banks and stood ready to be introduced to the business man already standing there. 

"Mr. Henderson, this is Detective Ellison. Maybe you should tell him what you told me." 

"Detective? You're not even wearing a suit." 

"Well, Mr. Henderson, if it's fashion tips you're looking for, I'm not your man. If you've got a crime you need investigated, I might know how to help." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out all pissy. I'm just really nervous and upset." 

"I understand that. Now, why don't you tell me the problem?" 

"It's my father." 

"What about him?" 

"I think he's being blackmailed, but he won't admit it. I just know there's something wrong though. It's a rather delicate situation and I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing even coming here." The flurry of hand movements at first gave a comical appearance to the ultra thin man, but as the obvious distress escalated the tone of his voice, Jim lost his urge to smile. 

"Who exactly is your father, Mr. Henderson?" 

"Randall Henderson." 

"Of Henderson Industries?" A quick nod brought on a major alarms. 

The pounding in Jim's head didn't lessen at the thought of having to deal with the elder Henderson under any circumstance, short of his murder. He had a reputation as one of the most ruthless power brokers around. A pissed off millionaire would not make for an easy life in the near future. 

"Yes, and he'd really angry if he knew I'd come here, but I'm just at a loss. I just know Jerry Bailey's up to something, and I'm worried." 

"And who is this Jerry Bailey? 

"Well, you see that's where the delicate part comes in." 

Rubbing a hand to his throbbing temple, Jim had to ask. "Tell me." 

"My father has this rather bad habit of having the worst taste in young men." 

Oh shit. "So, you're saying you think that this Bailey is going to blackmail your father about a relationship he had with him?" 

"Oh, no, not at all. Most people know about my father's, shall we say, alternate life style up to a point. The problem is that Jerry wasn't interested and my father was, for lack of a better way to say it, a bit too forceful." 

"Too forceful?" Jim motioned for the young man to sit down a the table and pulled out a notebook. "Maybe we should start by defining some terms here, Mr. Henderson. I want you to be sure of what you're telling me before we go any further." 

Easing himself down in the chair, the young man pulled out a handkerchief and nervously began to dab at his cheek and forehead. "I'm not exactly sure I understand what you're saying." 

"If you're trying to report that your father forced his attentions on someone, that could be a crime in and of itself depending on what form these attentions took. I need details." 

Jim didn't like the sudden shifting and looking away. Finally, Henderson spoke, his voice shaky. "Are you saying that my telling you what my father did, it could get him in more trouble than Jerry trying to blackmail him for it?" 

Glancing over at Banks, Jim noticed his captain's grim features. Before he could speak again, Simon beat him to it. "Mr. Henderson, the detective is just trying to get to the facts. Unless you have direct knowledge of a crime your father committed, it would simply be hearsay at this point. We're going to need you to tell us the story and then maybe we can decide what we should do about it." 

"I understand. I don't know for sure what my father did. I know he's got an awful reputation and I hear the staff talking, but I've never seen anything illegal myself. Most of the young men my father goes after don't have a problem with his attentions. He is, after all, a very wealthy man who can afford all kinds of presents. He usually takes a fancy to someone and then after a month or so, loses interest. Then the fellow will get some trust fund or a house or something. Both parties usually benefit, I assure you." 

"But that didn't happen with this Jerry Bailey?" Jim interrupted trying to redirect the narrative. 

"No, it didn't. Jerry didn't want to have anything to do with Father. He was very adamant, but for some reason, Father just wouldn't let up. It was like he was obsessed or something. I mean, Jerry's pretty and all that, but not worth getting all crazy over. He called him, followed him, sent him gifts. He even hired someone to take pictures, intimate pictures apparently. I was there when Jerry barged in one night and threatened to sue or have him arrested if he didn't stop." 

"What did your father say?" 

"Well, I think that's what started this whole thing on a really nasty turn. He laughed and dared him to try. I don't think I've ever seen anyone, except for my father, get quite so angry as I saw Jerry that night. After that things settled down and I thought my father had come to his senses and found someone else to go after." 

"What makes you think he didn't?" 

Jim watched as the young man again rubbed the sweaty handkerchief along his neck. The nerves twitched along his lower jaw. His eyes closed briefly before he spoke. 

"About a week later, Jerry came back. He had bandages on his arm and he limped. There were cuts and bruises. He told my father that he had pictures of what he'd done to him, pictures that showed EXACTLY what he'd done. Then he said he wanted a 2 million dollars in a Swiss account by Friday, or he'd send those pictures to the police." 

"And what did your father say then?" 

"That's the strange part, detective." 

"Why's that?" 

"He didn't say much of anything. He just said he was sorry it had come to this and he would be hearing from him. He didn't deny anything or get angry. My father has a terrible temper and he never lets anyone get the best of him and here was a man threatening to blackmail him. I just don't understand it." 

"You have no idea what's in the pictures?" 

"It would only be a guess. My father wants what he wants, but I don't think he would resort to force. If Jerry has pictures that say something else, they have to be fake. He is a professional photographer, after all." 

The detective's gut clenched at the possibilities of what he might see in those photos. He also wondered what kind of snake pit he'd be walking into when he went to see Mr. Randall Henderson himself. But first, he had to go find a man named Bailey. 

* * *

"This is really creepy, Jim." Blair sat in the truck, constantly shifted in the seat. The kid just never stayed still. As he moved, his delicious scent drifted through the air like stroking hands against Jim's cheek and restless cock. The older man had to keep shaking his head to refocus on the road. 

"What's creepy, Chief?" 

"This whole business with this guy Henderson abusing his power like that. I mean, if what his son Daniel says is true, there's no telling what he did to this Bailey guy." 

"We don't know for sure he did anything. That's why we're going to talk to him before we go see Henderson." 

"Yeah, but if he did do something to him it would be like in so many tribal cultures." 

"How's that?" 

"Well, you have a chief who collects the most power by doing best whatever that particular tribe holds as important and then that chief will sometimes abuse the position to gain sexual favors. Throughout history women and young people, who have little or no social status in that society, are forced to submit to whatever that person wants. They pretty much became the equivalent of sexual slaves." He noticed Jim's grin. "What?" 

Jim couldn't help but smile. He loved the way his partner always seemed to find some way to bring everything back to anthropology. "Nothing. I'm just listening to you talk. You do it pretty well sometimes. Plus, I think you may be spot on with your comparison. In this case the chief has gained power by making more money than the entire budget of the city of Cascade." 

"Like I said, it's pretty creepy. So, what did you find out about this Jerry Bailey? Did he ever file a report with the police about Henderson?" 

"No, I checked, but there was nothing, no complaints at all. Though I don't think it would've done much good if he had." 

"Why not?" 

"Come on, Chief. Bailey doesn't work for the man, so there's not grounds for a sexual harassment complaint. As far as we know, he wasn't stalked or publicly attacked. Bailey's pretty much just starting out in his own business and doesn't have much in the way of personal resources. It would be really difficult to do much against a man with that much power and money anyway. 

"You're right. That really sucks, man." 

"If it's true, yeah, it does." Jim pulled into a space in front of the apartment building and opened his door to get out. "When we talk to him, let me take the lead, but watch for any signs that he might be holding back." 

"Thanks, Jim, like I haven't done this before." Blair rolled his eyes and got out to walk inside with his friend. 

"Did I forget to mention that you're getting to be a real pain in the ass considering you're not a cop?" 

"Well, it's been a couple of hours since Simon said it, so I guess I needed to hear it one more time. Jeez, like I don't know it already." 

"Don't be so touchy, for godsakes. I didn't mean anything by it." 

Blair shrugged. "I know. It just gets old, you know, constantly being reminded of what you're not." 

Not really sure of what to say without stepping into a pile of deeper shit, Jim remained silent as the walked up the stairs to apartment 3A. A young man about Blair's age came to the door. "Mr. Bailey? I'm Jim Ellison with the Cascade PD and this is Blair Sandburg. We'd like to speak to you a few minutes if we could." He held up his ID. 

"What's this about?" Wary, the dark-haired man held the door half closed, leaning against the edge. His blue eyes stared out, filled with suspicion. His right hand wore a white bandage and a deep cut ran up his arm. Strong even features of his face wore the discoloration of fading bruises. 

"We'd like to come in. I don't think you want to have a private conversation out in the hall." 

Reluctantly, he moved back and let the two men pass. Once inside, he closed the door behind them and motioned for them to sit down. "I was just getting ready to leave for an appointment, so I can't talk long. What's going on?" 

Jim and Blair sat down beside one another on the couch, the younger man sitting closer to Bailey, who still stood. Pointing to his arm, the detective asked, "How'd you hurt yourself?" 

"I fell, but that's not why you're here, is it?" 

"No, we wanted to ask about your relationship with Randall Henderson." 

Immediately defensive, Bailey jerked straighter, his tone tight when he spoke. "What's that got to do with the police?" 

"We've were told there might be a problem between the two of you." 

"Told by whom? Daniel?" 

"Maybe. Is there a problem? Jim took in the racing heartbeat and increased flush of the man's skin. Sweat beaded along his forehead. 

"There's no problem. Henderson kept trying to get me to sleep with him and I told him no. After awhile, he got the message. I still don't know why Daniel would be going to the police, except he didn't like the way his father wouldn't give up." 

"Are you saying Daniel Henderson disapproved of his father's actions toward you?" 

Bailey sat down in the chair close to Blair. He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes before he finally said, "Daniel's different. It's hard to explain. He's got that classic love/hate thing going on with his old man. He really hates that is dad is so openly gay, but what's he going to do? The man has more money than god. I just dont know why he'd bring the police into this." 

"Did Randall Henderson harass or pressure you even after you told him you weren't interested?" Jim noticed the increase of blood pressure and the way Bailey refused to look in his direction. 

Turning slightly, he spoke more to Blair, his voice still tense. "You know how it is with some older guys, right, especially if they're used to getting what they want?" He paused as if waiting for Blair to answer. When he didn't, he continued. "Well, anyway, that's Henderson. It took awhile, but he finally figured out I didn't want to touch his tired, wrinkled ass. I don't care how much money the old man has, I'm not into that scene." 

Leaning in a little, Blair spoke in a confidential tone. "What scene is that, Jerry?" 

"You know, the old man, young dude thing. I like'em young myself. I don't want anything to do with someone like Henderson." He glanced over at Jim, and then back at Blair. "Somebody like you I could go for, but Henderson, no way." 

Blair blushed slightly, as Jim choked on his next words. "Excuse me? Did you just make a pass at my partner?" 

"Jim, it's okay, man." The young guide held up a patient hand and stared at his stupefied friend with a grin. 

"But, Chief..." 

"No, really, it's okay." Turning back to Bailey, he shook his head. "I'm flattered, but I'm strictly not into seeing anybody I meet while on the job. Might be considered a conflict of interest. Anyway, you're saying nothing happened between you and this guy Henderson that we should be aware of? You need to be sure, man, because we're here to listen if you need to talk." 

A slight hesitation came before the answer. "Nothing. I just want to forget about it." 

Jim, still reeling from Blair's casual reaction to Bailey's comments, found it difficult to speak without biting his words beyond recognition. "So, I guess we're finished here." He handed the young man a card as he stood to leave. "If you think of something you do need to tell us, call me at that number." 

"I'll do that." Bailey turned back to Blair. "I hope I didn't offend you a minute ago. It's just you don't look like a cop." 

"I'm not." Glancing at Jim with a mischievous grin. "Or so people keep telling me." He reached out his hand to shake Bailey's. "Take care and remember that number if you need it." 

"I will. Thanks." He suddenly turned his attention toward the detective. "By the way, if you do go see Henderson, be careful." 

Jim frowned. "Why's that?" 

"Well, your partner here's just his type." 

"Really?" 

With the most deadly serious eyes, Bailey locked his gaze with Jim's. "Most definitely." 

Shaking his head, Jim angrily motioned for Blair to follow him out. "Don't worry about Mr. Sandburg. He's pretty good at taking care of himself." 

Blair laughed. "Yeah, and if I can't handle him, I've got a police escort to help out." 

His smile faded when he saw Jim's hostile features as Bailey added, "Well, man, you're going to need it when he gets a load of your pretty face, not to mention that really great ass." 

Jim turned so quickly, Blair almost didn't see the ready fists. "Jim, stop it, man. Be cool." 

Seething, the words barely edging through his teeth. "Let's get out of here, Chief. Now. Before I do something." 

"Sure. Sorry, my man here has a tendency to overreact sometimes. He's the territorial type, you know?" 

A flash of awareness flickered. "Really? Well, yeah, I'm sorry. Guess I missed the rings, man. I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought you should know." 

"Appreciate it, man. Take care." 

Blair physically took Jim by the shoulder and turned to go out the door. By the time they got to the truck, the older man pounded on the hood in frustration. The new dent would hardly be noticed. 

"Come on, Jim. Settle down, man. Why are you so upset?" 

"How can you let him talk about you like that?" 

"Like what?" 

"Like you're some kind of, I don't know, something you're not." 

Blair shook his head. "Jim, are you this pissed because some guy thought I was gay or because of something else?" 

Still angry, Jim pulled open the door and climbed in behind the wheel. He had to fight to get the key in the ignition before he finally made it and then hammered the steering wheel. "Get in." 

"Not until you calm down. Your driving's bad enough without me risking getting killed in a truck crash because of something like this. Now tell me what's going on with you, man." 

"Nothing's going on. Just get in." 

"Jim." 

"Sandburg, either get in the fucking truck or call a cab. I'm leaving." He turned the ignition. Taking a deep breath, Blair got in beside his best friend, still confused. A few seconds later, he held on tight to his seat belt as Jim Ellison burned rubber out to the next light. 

* * *

"Jim, if you don't settle down, I'm going to have to throw your ass in a holding cell somewhere." Simon Banks watched in concern as his best detective paced in a rage back and forth in his office. He'd been that way ever since his return from the Bailey interview. Sandburg sat in the outer office hiding behind the computer, his head ducked down low. 

When Jim still didn't respond, the captain poured himself a cup of coffee, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Okay, you want to tell me what happened?" 

"Bailey's a punk, Captain. I can see him doing blackmail." The anxious edges blurred as Jim continued moving, burning a path from window to chair. 

"Okay. I'll buy that, but why does that have you so upset?" 

"I'm not upset." 

"The fish aren't biting on that fly, Ellison. Try again. Tell me what's going on. You've even got Sandburg running for cover." 

At the use of his partner's name, Jim grew even more red but stopped moving. Raising both hands to each temple, he rubbed hard as if trying to make a wish. "Sandburg's part of the problem. I just can't believe him sometimes." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Bailey made a pass at him and he didn't even blink." 

"So? Sounds like he just didn't overreact. Is that what this is really about? Someone thinking Blair's gay?" 

"It's not just that. I mean, the guy was really hitting on him hard, you know, and so Blair makes him think we're a couple to get him to back off." 

Simon spit into his coffee. Then he started laughing. "He did what?" 

"This isn't funny, sir. I mean, he acted like it was no big deal that some stranger makes this huge assumption and then he drags me into it." 

"Drags? He didn't put on a dress, too, did he?" 

Jim huffed and crossed his arms tight around his chest. "I'm not laughing, Simon." 

Sobering, the captain sat back down. "I can see that. What I can't see is the problem. You want to explain to me why this really bothered you so much? I mean, it's not like it's the first time the subject's ever come up." 

"What are you talking about?" Jim studied the man at the desk like a brand new crime scene. 

"Come on, Jim. Look at him. The hair, the clothes, the earrings. Besides he's so damn pretty. There are going to be people that jump to certain conclusions whether they're true or not." 

"But that's not right." 

"No, but it's going to happen. As for the being a couple bit, well, hell, Jim, you're two grown men who live together, work together, pretty much do everything together. Some people are going to think you're a lovely couple and no amount of talk or getting pissed is going to change that. Besides what difference does it make? As long as the kid doesn't care, why should you?" 

Jim turned away and stared out the window. Rain clouds once again covered the skies of his gloomy, cold city and he felt right at home. He let out a heavy sigh and made a decision. "You're right, it shouldn't bother me, but it does. I can deal with the couple business, but the idea of other guys hitting on him just isn't right." 

"Other guys?" The captain put down his coffee. "Jim, where are we going with this. Tell me I'm not going to regret having this conversation." 

"I don't know, sir. I'm not sure myself. I just know that I lost it this afternoon and I don't have a clue about what to do about it." 

"Do about what? The anger or the feelings?'' 

"Either one. I need to stop the anger. I understand that. I just don't know what to do about the feelings. I'm confused as hell about why I'm acting this way." 

Simon leaned back and paused, studying his friend carefully. He needed to step cautiously. "Jim, tell me if I'm out of line here, but could it be that you were jealous when this other guy made the pass?" 

He stood still, but looked away again. After a few long moments, he finally whispered. "It's a theory." 

"Shit." 

"I know, sir. I'm not sure about what to do about it." 

The captain glanced out at the lovely young man typing diligently at Jim Ellison's desk. He shook his head. "Well, I guess the first thing would be to find a way to talk to you partner about it. But, do me a favor first." 

"What?" 

"Promise me you won't start wearing matching outfits to work." 

"Very funny, Simon. I'm going through a personal crisis here and you're making couple jokes." 

"Well, at least I didn't say anything about matching the hairstyles." 

* * *

"Jim, there is like no way I'm letting you go up to see this guy without me." 

"You're not going, Chief. I can handle him by myself. I don't need you up there." 

"Oh, fine, Jim. I suppose this is going to be another lecture on Blair's not a cop." 

Jim breathed deeply, trying to be as patient as he could and still keep the truth hidden. He didn't want Blair anywhere near Henderson. "It's got nothing to do with that. I'm not going to be up there long and then we'll go have dinner out or something, my treat." 

Suddenly suspicious, Blair turned and stared at his friend. He reached over and gently touched his forehead before the larger man could pull back, slightly embarrassed. "Come on, Jim. How long have you been running a fever?" 

"Chief, stop it. I don't want you up there." 

Nodding, Blair crossed his arms and settled back, the slightest of grins on his face. "Oh, I get it. This is about what Bailey said. You think Henderson's going to start drooling and coming in his britches as soon as he gets a look at me, huh?" 

Flushing, his whole neck and face turning red, Jim shook his head. "I didn't say that. I just don't want to complicate matters if he should decide to take up hunting hyperactive anthropologists as his new sport." 

"That's crazy. No way that's going to happen." 

"You don't know that, Chief." Jim found it impossible to make eye contact with the man who sat so close and not get hard. Streaks of mid-winter sunlight came in through the window to backlight and honey the edges of his curls. Each wisp gave off a rich scent, a subtle mix of orange and cinnamon filtered from breakfast tea. He could barely focus on conversation, much less make a reasonable argument about anything. 

"Jim? Jim?" The voice stretched tight in the air. 

"What?" 

"You're zoning, man. What's going on? You've been acting weird all week and today especially." 

"It's nothing. I'll tell you what. You can go up, but stay in the outer office. That way, if I get in trouble, you'll be there." 

"I'm going in with you, Jim. You have a zone out in Henderson's office, it'll be my ass Simon chews." 

Gulping at the image of trading places with his boss, he ignored the worried glance his reaction caused. "Okay, but try not to be too noticeable." 

"Sure, Jim. Got a veil handy or maybe I should just put a bag over my head." 

"I'm serious." He didn't add only if the bag would cover his ass, too. 

"Sadly, I know that, Jim. Now, come on. Let's get this over with before you fade out on me again." 

"I'm fine, Sandburg." 

"And I'm Simon's brother. Come on. Whatever's going on with you, we'll try to figure it out later. Let's go see this Henderson. If we're lucky, it'll all just be some misunderstanding and we can forget about the whole dirty business." 

"I sure as hell hope so. This case is making my teeth itch." Getting out of the truck, he locked the door and watched his partner walk to the garage elevator, his red jacket catching on the back of his belt. Tight jeans hugged so nicely up the middle that Jim found the air suddenly too light to suck in. "Jesus, Chief." 

Turning around, truly innocent, Blair saw his friend's reddened features. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. I just think I need a day off or something." Or something and damn soon. 

* * *

"Detective Ellison, this whole business is ridiculous. I'm amazed that a city police officer would even be wasting his time investigating something like this based on such flimsy details." 

"Sir, it was your own son who was worried about your situation. We thought it might be prudent to find out the details directly before dismissing it outright. Now, are you saying that there's no problem with Jerry Bailey? No demands have been made of any nature?" 

"That's what I'm saying, Detective. There's no problem at all." Randall Henderson leaned back in his leather-bound desk chair. He templed his fingers and stared at Jim with arrogance and amusement. A man in his sixties, he'd fared well. Few wrinkles marred his strong, square jaw and his nose gave an aristocratic appearance to the handsome face. Peppered hair added distinction rather than an aged appearance and his lean figure indicated an active rather than sedentary life-style. From the tan lines around his eyes, Jim guessed skiing would be high on his list. 

He stopped taking in the details of the man's appearance long enough to ask. "Do you have any idea why your son would be concerned for your welfare?" 

"Daniel has always been somewhat nervous about different aspects of my life, Detective. He didn't approve of Jerry much. As a matter of fact, he doesn't care for any of my companions. As to why he'd take his displeasure to such an extreme as to involve the police, I don't know. I'll be sure to ask him later on tonight though. Meanwhile, I think I've wasted enough of your time. Good day, detective." 

Having dismissed Jim, Henderson stood with a fluid movement and came around the desk to stand next to Blair. He extended his hand. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Sandburg. My company often gets involved in university projects. Perhaps we'll meet again some time, maybe have dinner." 

"Maybe." 

Jim took in the increased of heart rate and breathing as Blair took Henderson's hand. The leer from the older man made his guide more than a little nervous. It made the sentinel downright pissed. 

Before Blair had a chance to say anything else, Jim stepped closer to the pair. "Come on, Chief. We've got to go." 

"Right." 

Pulling away from the insistent handshake, Blair quickly followed Jim out the door. At the end of the hall, sentinel hearing kicked in as Henderson spoke to himself in a low tone. "My god that was a lovely piece of ass." 

Flushed with anger, Jim placed a protective hand in the small of his young friend's back and gave it a nudge. "Let's get out of this place, Chief. I think I need a shower." 

Puzzled, Blair turned and looked up. "What?" 

"The guy may have money, Blair, but he's still a sleeze and I want to get out of here before I have to knock him on his skinny ass." 

"Actually, man, I'm down with that. I feel a little dirty myself." 

"Why?" 

"You ever had somebody feel you up without even touching?" 

More than a tad bit guilty, Jim tried not to the think of the number of times he'd done that to Blair in his own mind. Instead, he focused on the question. "A few times, but not often." 

"Well, it a major creep factor, man, especially when you don't like the guy who can't keep his eyes to himself." 

Silent until they reached the ground floor of the garage, Jim turned to Blair as they headed to the truck. He tried to sound casual as he formed the words, but his insides did tiny shakes. "So, are you saying it's not a creep factor if you like the guy who's looking?" 

Grinning shyly as his hand reached for the door handle, his words came out near husky. "Actually, it's kind of thrill when you know somebody gets off looking at you." 

"And you don't mind guys looking at you that way?" 

"Why should I?" 

Still a little nervous, Jim climbed into the truck and waited for Blair to buckle up before he asked, "Are you trying to tell me something here, Chief? I mean, do you look at other guys like that?" 

Blair shook his head with a little smile on his face. "Jim, man, for a detective, sometimes I wonder where you live." 

"What?" 

"I'm just saying there's nothing wrong with checking out all the options." 

"Oh." Despite the cold weather, Jim wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Maybe we should talk about this later, Chief. We're in a public place." His face flushed, his mind flooded with new possibilities. His earlier fears of rejection lessened. Just as he started to get up the nerve to suggest a quick drive back to the loft to continue in private, the cellphone rang. 

Blair looked sorely disappointed. Jim frowned and picked it up. "Ellison." 

"Jim, I've got a body for you." Simon's voice sounded strained even for him. 

"Yeah? Has it been identified yet?" 

"They just found Jerry Bailey in his studio over on Chelsea." 

Damn. There'd be no private talks or anything else in the loft anytime soon. Double damn. 

* * *

"Oh, man. Oh, man." Blair held a hand to his mouth trying desperately not to embarrass himself by hurling everything he'd ever eaten into the crime scene. 

"Chief, you need to go back out front. You don't need to see this." Jim watched his partner with concern as his skin paled and then literally turned slightly green. Taking him by the arm, he quickly directed his unsteady body out to the lobby where he could sit down. Sensing the racing pulse and shallow breathing, he placed a hand to the back of his guide's neck. "Put you head down before you pass out." 

"Man, I'm okay." 

"No, you're not. Put you head down. Now." 

Too weak to argue or worry about being embarrassed, the younger man did as was told. Slowly his color returned to normal and he gradually sat back up, his expression still shocked. "Jim?" 

"You feeling better?" Jim pulled on the latex gloves, preparing to detail the scene. 

"Yeah, I'm okay, but, man, that's a damn shame." 

"Yes, it is. I have to admit there's more than a little overkill here." 

"Jesus. Man, I don't think I can go back in there." His hands still shaky, he covered his mouth. 

"It's okay, Chief. Why don't I get one of the units to take you home? You don't have to be here while I do this. Plus I have to wait for the ME." 

"But I don't want you doing this alone. I should be able to deal with this by now." Sad eyes glanced back in the direction where the mutilated body of Jerry Bailey lay gutted and stabbed, sprawled in pools of his own blood. 

"Nobody should be able to deal with this kind of thing, Chief. I can do it because I have to and it's my job. Just the same, I have to tell you that even for me, this is one hell of a bad scene. I want you out of here." 

"You're sure? I mean, what if it gets to be too much?" Both men understood Blair's hesitation to leave his partner if he might zone out. 

"I'll be fine, Chief. Go. We'll talk tonight." 

Nodding, Blair looked around to check for listeners and then back at Jim. "I'd like that. I might be totally misreading the situation, but I think we need to talk about a lot of things." 

"You're not misreading a thing, Chief. Now, go on. Get out of here." 

Just as Blair started out the door, Jim got an uneasy feeling, a mental flag that made him call out. "Hey, Chief. Stay alert. No candy from strangers, right?" 

"Oh, man. Stop that." Seeing Jim's serious expression, softened his own. "Yeah, okay. I'll be careful." 

"You better." 

"Later, man." Jim waited until Blair left before he turned toward the back room. His sentinel hearing cued in on a cellphone as he heard his friend answer. A woman's voice told Blair that he was needed at the university office. Satisfied that his friend would be safe until later, his attention focused instead on dialing down his senses. Even on low, the coppery rake of blood choked him. Putting himself into full investigator mode, he proceeded to document the clues. Whoever killed Bailey was one sick son of a bitch who had a huge appetite for violence. This was someone who didn't just kill, but who continued long after the victim was already gone, someone out of control. Jim Ellison wanted to make damn sure he caught the bastard before he had a chance to do it again. 

* * *

Blair scanned his office. Instead of his regular desk, an antique oak one had been moved into its place. Walls once lined with second hand metal now sported hand-carved wood. His books and artifacts sat dusted and neatly organized. 

Shaking his head, he moaned. "Shit. They moved all my stuff around. How am I going to ever find anything?" 

"Blair, I hope you're not mad that I let the delivery people in." 

"Sheila, it's not your fault, but I don't understand. What is all this? There's no way it's the university. I mean, this must have cost a fortune." 

The young secretary sneaked her head around his shoulder and smiled. "But it's so nice. Man, my office sucks big time now." 

"There's something wrong here." Blair scratched his head and then noticed the unopened box on the top of the new desk. Walking over, he tore open the paper and looked inside. There he found a gold bracelet, seven lines woven to a central molded image of the Mayan symbol for the sun. 

"Wow. That's beautiful. Is it real gold?" 

"Sure looks like it." Hefting it in his right hand, he added, "Damn. Feels like it, too." He sifted through the packaging to find some indication of the jewelry's source when he noticed the card. In simple handwriting it said, "Please accept these gifts as a token to your spirit. Your admirer, Randall H." 

His gut tightened. He didn't want to imagine being pulled into whatever twisted scenario Henderson had planned. A flash of Jerry Bailey's torn body reflected in the smooth metal held in his palm. 

Sheila wowed over his shoulder again and then gave Blair another appraisal. "Gee, Blair. Who is this guy anyway?" 

"Man, I am like in so much trouble." 

"Why?" 

"Sheila, listen. I've got to get all this stuff returned. Do you have the receipts or anything that you signed?" 

She shook her head and complained, "They didn't give me any papers, but I don't understand. You've got all this great new stuff and you want to send it back? How come?" 

"Because this guy sends my creep factor to a whole new level." 

Opening her mouth to a little ah, she nodded. "I get it. The man's a freak, right?" 

"A freak with a lot of power." 

"And money, too, obviously. So, what are you going to do? It's too late to call any of the delivery places or return anything. Maybe you can track down the paperwork tomorrow." 

"Maybe. Anyway, it's not your problem." He picked up the bracelet, rewrapped it, and stuffed it into his back pack. 

"You going to keep that one?" 

"No way. I just don't want it to get ripped off before I can send it back." 

"Damn shame though. It's really a nice piece." 

"Yeah, but I'm not willing to trade a piece for a piece." 

Sheila smiled and then headed for the door. "I always said you were a smart guy." 

As she left, Blair shook his head wearily and muttered to himself, "Oh, man, Jim is going to go ballistic over this one." He was so busy trying to figure out if he should even tell his partner about the gifts, he didn't notice the man coming up from behind him. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" 

Startled, he turned and recognized Henderson's bodyguard. "Yeah. What do you want?" 

"I'm Tony Delmont. Mr. Henderson has requested that I ask you to come see him. I have a car waiting." 

"Well, tell your boss to wait a little longer, because I'm busy." 

"He told me to tell you that he wanted to discuss the possibility of extra funding to the university, specifically a project he's been thinking about initiated through your department. I really think it would be short-sighted to just dismiss the opportunity without even talking to him." Stepping closer, he added. "Look, man, let me be honest here. You don't show up with me, it could be my job. He gets really bent out of shape when I don't follow orders." 

"I'm sorry about that, but I'm busy. You tell Mr. Henderson if he's really interested in the university and not something else, he can contact the dean." 

"It's only for an hour or two. You get there and decide you don't want to stay, I promise to take you anywhere you want to go, no questions asked. I just really need you to at least put in an appearance. You don't know this guy." 

And he didn't really want to either. On the one hand, Blair's Jim-voice told him to get back to the loft as fast as he could. On the other hand, he felt sorry for the guy practically begging him to save his job. After all, it was just a few hours. What could happen? Reluctantly, Blair grumbled. "Okay, but as soon as I return this damn bracelet and straighten Henderson out, I'm gone. Understood?" 

Smiling, the bodyguard motioned toward the outside door. "Oh, absolutely." 

* * *

Blair shifted nervously in the high back leather chair while Randall Henderson poured them both a drink. The older man turned and handed him the brandy. "I think you'll like this. It's very smooth, very rich. It'll suit you. The shine of it matches the highlights of your wonderful hair." 

Flustered, embarrassed by the overt attention, he took the glass, but placed it on the table beside him. "I told you I didn't want any." 

"But you should at least try it." He sipped and then added. "Tony said you didn't want to come here at first, but you did. Perhaps you could do the same with the brandy. Trying new things, recognizing social rituals and customs, isn't that what makes up a part of your studies?" 

"And is this some part of your ritual, Mr. Henderson? You send gifts unsolicited and then try to pressure people into doing whatever it is you want?" He didn't mean to sound angry, but he did. He couldn't get the vision of Bailey out of his head. The young man had been so vital this morning and just a few hours later lay dead. "Is that what you did to Jerry Bailey?" 

Smiling, Henderson sat down in the chair next to Blair's. He took another sip and then spoke clearly, his eyes locked with the younger man's. "Jerry thought a lot about appearances, Blair. Perhaps that's why he loved taking pictures. I know my son told your friend Ellison that I pressured Jerry, but I didn't. How do you think he got the money to open that studio? He had talent, I'll give him that, but he also had a dark side. He wanted to give up control over his life and I let him from time to time. Gave him things that he couldn't actually ask for, but needed. I think in the long run that scared him." 

Confused at the contradiction of what he knew from Jim and Bailey and what he heard now, he asked, "What are you talking about?" 

"Jerry liked to fight his own desires. In the end he wanted to be conquered, so I did that. He hated to admit that he liked it. I'll confess that he may have complained from time to time that I was a bit rough, but believe me we both gained from the experience." 

Shaking his head, the young man wanted to erase the roaring round of violent images parading wantonly through his head. He needed to leave and soon. 

Blair reached down into his back pack and brought out the bracelet. He put the box on the table between them. "I don't want anything from you, Mr. Henderson, not this and not the new additions to my office. I also don't want to know what went on between you and Jerry Bailey. The man is dead and you talk about him like he was some screwed up guy who needed to be beaten to be happy. I talked to him and I'm here to say, he wasn't laughing." 

"Blair, please, calm down. It wasn't like that. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Jerry was confused about what he wanted. I just helped him decide." 

"Well, I'm not Bailey and I'm not confused. I don't need to have my decisions made by anyone, especially someone who thinks money can buy anybody he wants. Man, that is so not cool." 

Henderson's tongue rubbed along the inside of his bottom lip, pouting it out slightly. After a few moments, he reluctantly nodded. "Very well, Blair..." 

"Please, don't call me that either. I prefer Mr. Sandburg." 

"All right. Mr. Sandburg, no hard feelings. You're just so lovely. You can't blame a guy for trying I hope." 

"Just lay off. No means no." 

"I've heard that." He raised the snifter. "At least try the brandy. Then I'll have Tony drive you home. Tomorrow I'll have the other things removed from your office. Fair enough?" 

Feeling more relieved, the ordeal of standing up for himself resolved, Blair raised the glass and took a sip in celebration. He knew Jim would be pleased that he could take care of himself. Feeling self-satisfied actually relaxed his tense muscles and shaky nerves. 

The expensive liquid burned, but had an oddly soothing quality as it coated his throat and warmed him down to the belly. He took another drink and then finished off the rest. The ritual communion over, he stood to leave and reached down for his back pack. "I hope this doesn't mean you're going to withdraw the funding to the university. That wouldn't really be fair to the school." 

A furnace heat blasted down and across his stomach, clenching it to a spasm. He sagged down and fumbled at his knapsack's zipper so he could hurry up and leave. His fingers failed miserably to cooperate, going numb against the metal. Maybe brandy on an empty stomach might have been a bad idea, custom or no custom. 

"Of course not. Your refusal to see me has nothing to do with my donations. Like I said before I adore education. Next to a tight ass, a brain is a very sexy thing." 

Shaking his head made him even more dizzy and Blair found himself swirling faster, out of control. He knew he needed to call out for Jim as his vision grew more blurry, but tongue and lips became strangers. Fuzzy edges around his brain softened his hearing to silence and his head floated up into a grey expanse that drifted into nothing at all. 

* * *

"Where the hell is he, Simon?" Jim paced the captain's office, the phone pushed against his ear. Every sense revved to alert, sizzled with extra energy. 

"Settle down, Jim. I thought you said he had to go over to the university." 

"I tried there. No answer. I've tried the loft, the university office, even that little coffee shop he likes on the corner. Nobody knows where the hell he is, Simon. I don't like this." 

The captain chewed nervously on his cigar and then reached over to get another cup of coffee. "Jim, you're overreacting here. You just saw him a few hours ago. Give him time to get home." 

"Why isn't he answering his cellphone?" Jim disconnected and punched in another number. 

"Maybe because he turned it off again. Look, you just need to relax. The kid's okay." 

Jim shook his head and rubbed his face in a combination of exhaustion and frustration. This case had transformed into a dozen pissed off rattlesnakes squirming in his hand. He couldn't get one thing settled before something else bit harder. 

"You don't know that, sir. This whole business with Henderson has me worried. You didn't see him in his office, Simon. The guy's on some kind of power trip. He came on to Blair and he's got the history to make me think he won't be satisfied with a polite I'm not interested from Sandburg." 

"Jim, we've go no evidence that he's connected to Bailey's death." 

"Not yet, but I'll lay odds he's in this. He may not have killed the guy, Simon, but he's involved some way. Add to that, if he did harass or assault Bailey and then got blackmailed, there's the motive. I'm waiting on prints and forensics, but I know that Henderson was at the studio sometime in the last few days. His scent was still there." 

"His scent?" Simon took out his cigar and laid it in the ashtray. "You're sure? You only met the man once." 

"Simon, everybody has a unique smell. I targeted in on his when he was trying to get a date with my partner. I wanted to make damn sure I knew when he came sniffing around again." 

The captain shook his head and then leaned back before he spoke. "Jim, think about what you're saying here. Do you have any idea how much power this guy Henderson has? He's the wealthiest man in the state, one of the most wealthy in the country." 

"I know that, sir." 

"Then you also know you damn well better have every base covered before you even think about accusing him of murdering an ex-lover." 

"If he's involved, I will. I also know that if he touches Blair, the city may not have to worry about paying for a trial." 

Simon stood up and walked around to sit on the edge of the desk, his face a grim mask of concern. "Listen to me, Jim. Don't go off half-cocked on this one. You don't know where Blair is, but there's no reason at all to think he's in any danger." 

"You don't understand, Simon. I can feel it. There's something wrong. I can't explain it anymore than I can explain how I can count the exact number of fibers that make up your shirt. I can just sense it." 

The captain studied his friend carefully for a moment longer. "Well, then we'd better get out there and see what we can do to find him then." 

"We?" Jim tilted his head, puzzled. 

"If you think I'm going to let you go talk to Henderson or anybody else involved in this case alone, you must have lost your senses." 

"Funny, Captain." 

"Do I look like I'm trying to be funny, Jim?" 

"Not really." The detective picked up the phone and tried dialing Blair's number again. 

"Come on, Jim. You can keep trying to get him while I drive us to Henderson's" 

"Why do you get to drive?" 

"Because I'm the captain and, frankly, Jim, I'd like to be alive when we find the kid." 

* * *

Chilled air mixed with the heavy scent of sandalwood and musk. His skin itched with the cold and he wanted to turn over, but Blair found his body still too rebellious to obey. Fighting with his eyelids, he managed to open them enough to take in the dim light of pale yellow candles. The gauze curtains dangling from the high canopy of the bed draped like sluggish apparitions at the edge of a narrow world. Breathing more deeply to clear his head, he realized he lay there naked, his skin oiled. He moved a hand lazily across the slick hairs of his chest and fingered the nipple ring, tugging with no effect. Straying to the oddly numb weight between his legs, he touched the thick hide that wrapped leather around his cock. He stroked carelessly, his nerves dormant beneath the caress. A slight shifting hitched his breath, the dull sensation of fullness inside his ass unexpected and strange. 

Bringing his hand up, he tried to rub better vision into his eyes, but failed. He couldn't remember where he was or how he got there and felt too damn tired to figure it out. Memory danced elusive, silver mercury in a tilted palm. Vaguely he wondered why the world left him deserted. He wanted Jim, but lay there abandoned, alone with no direction. As a guide he floundered, useless even to himself. Air whistled lightly, icy and hardly there. Closing his eyes again, he settled sadly into the rhythm of the fatal pounding that slowly turned his skull into bits of bone and dust. 

* * *

"So, where is he, Henderson?" Jim's twitching jaw signaled an intense level of restraint that wouldn't last long. 

"Captain Banks, your man is obviously out of line. His partner is not here." 

"He is here, Simon. I know it." Jim turned back to Henderson. "You listen and understand this, asshole. I will find Mr. Sandburg and if I have to go around you or through you, it makes no difference to me. Now, where the fuck is he?" 

Arms crossed in defiance, Henderson stared into an angry warrior's face. "Detective Ellison, you don't seem to know who you're talking to here. I can have my lawyer present in a matter of minutes. I'm sure he can come up with a number of charges that cover those kind of threats, not to mention the invasion of my home." 

Simon stepped closer. "Do that. If you want to take it that way, we can get a search warrant while we wait for you lawyer to arrive. Or you can do yourself a favor and show us where Blair Sandburg is right now. If we have to wait and he's hurt, we add more charges of our own." 

"What charges? I'm telling you that the young man isn't here." 

Jim tried to side step his captain, but stopped when Simon lifted his hand. "If my man says he's here, there's no guessing involved. The sooner you take us to him, the sooner we can resolve this whole mess." 

Henderson took turns looking at the faces of both the stubborn men standing between him and the door. A trace of fear finally surfaced. "Very well, but there's nothing to charge me with. Everything that's gone on here hasn't been against anyone's will. I'll guarantee you won't be able to prove otherwise." 

Before Simon could contain him, Jim leaped forward, slamming the smaller man's back into the wall. "You son of a bitch. I swear to god, if you've hurt him, I'm going to kill you." 

"Captain Banks, you're a witness." The words struggled for life, barely a husky squeak, as Jim's forearm pressed into the man's throat. 

"Jim, stop it! Let's go find Blair." Struggling to break the angry detective's vice-like grip, he repeated. "Jim, stop it. Now, god damn it." 

Finally taking in his captain's voice, Jim's vision cleared. He released his hold and stepped back, shaking his head. Suddenly, he paled. "God, Simon, he's barely breathing." His hearing trained itself on the shallow breaths coming from a room above him. "I've got to go." 

He raced up the stairs, taking steps two at a time. On the second floor, the third door on the right flew open with a loud crash. The sight on the bed took his own breath away. Blair lay naked on a plush silk comforter, his heart beat less than half its normal rate. Rushing to the bed side, Jim took a quick tally of all the other vitals, all of which registered dangerously low. His friend's lips had a slight bluish tint. 

Behind him he heard Simon whisper, "My god, Jim. Is he okay?" 

"Call for an ambulance. I don't know what's wrong. He looks drugged. Could be an overdose." While he spoke, he grabbed a blanket from the other side of the bed. Kneeling beside his partner, he wrapped his guide's limp form in the cover. He quickly pulled Blair to his chest to warm him next to his own body. 

Crooning softly he cradled the unconscious man in his arms. "It's okay, Chief. I've got you now. I'm here." Rocking him softly, stinging tears burned his eyes. "Jesus, Blair, just keep breathing." 

He refused to take in the flashing images that settled in to parade in his detective's mind while they waited for the medical team to arrive. The smell of latex, semen, and musky oils slicked his brain. The sharp vision of Blair stripped naked except for the black leather cock ring played against the tray of dildoes, straps, and vibrators next to the bed. They all hammered an aching grief over and over in his mind as he spread his own body heat into the far too cold body of his very soul. 

* * *

Jim Ellison paced the waiting room like a frenzied cat. The more he walked, the more anxiety wound up through his legs into his torso. His mind whirled with a confusing mix of energy, anger, and desperation. No amount of effort would let him sit still. 

"Jim, he's going to be okay." 

Slamming a fist into the wall startled everyone in the room. Simon leaped to his friend's side and pulled him to another corner. "Settle down, man. You've got to get yourself under control here." 

Struggling to form words, Jim's voice sounded hoarse, each syllable pain personified. "I can't lose him, Simon. He's my life." 

"He's going to be all right." 

"He has to be." Jim started to pace again, but stopped abruptly. He turned and trained a sentinel eye on the doctor standing in the doorway. "Dr. Davis, how's my partner." 

The middle-aged physician pushed up his glasses and wiped his face before he waved Jim and the captain closer. "Gentlemen, come with me so we can talk." 

Limbs stiff, but functional, Jim followed mutely, Simon by his side. In a small room, the doctor turned. "Actually, we got lucky with this one." 

Swallowing hard, Jim simply said, "Tell me." 

"His breathing's improved and his vitals are all returning to normal. He was very lucky you found him when you did. He's been drugged with a very serious, very tricky combination of Rohypnol and barbiturate mixed in alcohol. Few people ever use all three together since everyone responds so differently. He had a particularly hypersensitive reaction. But, he's responding well now, so unless he has some other reaction, I think he's going to be all right." 

"What about the assault?" Jim's words barely stirred the air. 

Clearing his throat, the doctor nodded. "Well, we're lucky in some regard there, too. I did a rape kit as your captain requested in the presence of Detective Taggart. There is no evidence of actual rape, no semen in the rectum, but, of course, there was penetration by an object. I've bagged the anal dilator and other appliance used on his genitals for evidence. There's no bruising, but I'd say this is definitely a sexual assault. Proving it, however, may be a different matter." 

"My god, we found him unconscious in the man's house." Jim's distress pinched his words into tight, painful barbs. 

"It's been my experience that Rohypnol most often leaves its victims with short-term amnesia. That seems to be true with Mr. Sandburg so far. Whoever did this knows that quite likely not only will your partner have no clear memory of what happened, but will probably never recover those memories except maybe in flashbacks or vague impressions. In very few cases can the person responsible be convicted on the victim's testimony because the patient simply can't remember." 

"Jesus. I can't believe this." Jim turned to the wall, his face too hot with tears. 

"I know, it's frustrating, Detective. Even so, the good thing is that physically there should be no permanent damage to your partner." 

Jim, still facing away, didn't respond. Simon asked, "When can we take him home?" 

"Because of his drug reaction, I'm keeping him overnight until I'm sure his respiratory condition is completely stable. Tomorrow he should be able to leave." 

Despite the thin air, Jim pulled enough air into his lungs to choke out a few words. "I need to see him." 

"He's still in and out of consciousness. He hasn't been fully lucid yet." 

"I need to at least sit with him. He'll be afraid. I need to be there." 

"That can be arranged in just a minute, but first I need to caution you that the biggest problem will be the psychological impact. He'll be frustrated and may have problems with what we call free-floating anxiety. He can't recall the events, but his body and his subconscious know that something happened. My suggestion is to give him some time to recover physically and then get him into counseling. Technically he may not have been raped, but he was sexually assaulted. It can be just as devastating." 

"We're aware of that doctor. Thank you." Simon glanced over at Jim who still stood there, close-lipped, his arms tightly wrapped around his chest. "May we see him now?" 

"Just as soon as he's moved into his room, I'll tell the nurse to come and get you." 

"Thanks." As soon as he left, Simon turned to his friend. "Jim, why don't you sit down before you fall down? We'll see him in a few minutes." 

"Listen, Simon. I need you to do me a favor." 

"What?" 

"I need you to get the evidence from Joel so that it can be processed and we can keep Henderson's ass in jail. I also need you to follow up on the Bailey case, send for the files and forensic reports so I can work on them here. I can't leave Blair right now, but I have to make sure that this guy is stopped." 

"Jim, I've already got that covered." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to nail the son of a bitch. It may not be right away, but I promise you, we'll have him." 

Feeling near to losing control again, Jim turned away, leaned his forehead to the wall. He let himself drift in a cushion of swirling fog. Reaching out his senses he found his lifeline in the steady breathing and heartbeat of his partner. 

* * *

Sitting there, hand to mouth, Jim studied the quiet, smooth lines of his guide's sleeping face. Unshaven, the shadow darkened his pale skin. The dripping of the IV ran counter to the slowly increasing rate of the heart beat. Putting the file aside, he leaned in, watching the merest flutter of eyelid. "Come on, Chief. It's time to wake up." 

Slowly the dark blue eyes opened and focused. "Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief. How you feeling?" He took Blair's hand and lifted to his lips for a brief kiss. 

A slight smile graced the full lips. "Better after that." Looking around, Blair stiffened. "Jim, why am I in a hospital?" 

Gut tight, forcing his face to remain neutral, Jim evened out his voice. "What's the last thing you remember?" He rubbed the back of Blair's hand with his fingertips, drinking in the rich touch of skin against skin. 

Confusion rushed across his face as the young man stared out and tried to pull pictures from bits of cloud. "I don't know. Did we find out who killed Jerry Bailey?" 

"Yeah, actually we did. While you were sleeping, we found enough evidence to arrest Daniel Henderson. Seems he didn't like the idea of somebody threatening his father. He kind of went nuts and came after me when I went to get him." 

Suddenly fearful, Blair panicked. "Attacked you? Jesus, Jim are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. He wasn't exactly too subtle. Came after me with a knife. Simon and I took care of it. Daniel's in the psych wing being evaluated." 

"Daniel went apeshit, huh? Glad I missed that then. But what else? I mean, why am I here?" He raised his left hand to his forehead, rubbing the concentration of lines beneath his wild curls. "Man, my head hurts." 

"It's okay, babe. You don't have to remember everything right away. You were drugged, but you're going to be fine. They just want to keep you here to be safe." 

"Safe? Drugged? Man, what's going on?" 

His increased blood pressure brought Jim's hand to Blair's face. He gently held the cheek and whispered, "Settle down, Chief. I'm here to make sure that everything's going to be okay." 

Calming slightly, Blair turned to stare at Jim more closely. "Jim, did something else happen?" 

"Like what?" He wanted desperately to avoid saying anything more until his friend grew stronger. 

"Well, you kissed my hand and I swear I love when you touch me, but I don't remember you calling babe before or ever putting the moves on like this. Did we like come out or something and I forgot?" 

Shaking his head, Jim smiled at the grim irony. "Yeah, something like that." 

A smile more golden than first sunlight warmed Blair's face. He tightened his grip on Jim's hand. "Man, that is so cool." 

"Yeah, it is, Chief. Loving you is the coolest thing in the world." 

"I love you, too, Jim, but I can't believe we decided to finally tell each other and then I go off and forget about it. That sucks." 

Jim reached up and stroked Blair's temple and then gently ran his fingers through tight brown curls. "You know now, and that's all that matters. You hear me, Chief. The only thing that's important is that we love each other." 

Sensing the deep urgency in the voice behind the words, Blair's earlier gladness melted away to concern. "Jim, you're scaring me here. What's going on? Did Simon or somebody get hurt?" 

"No, Simon's fine. You're the one in the hospital bed, but you can go home later today. Listen, I want you to get some rest." 

"Jim, come on, man. I don't like this. Why can't I remember anything? I mean, I remember leaving you at the crime scene, but then nothing." 

"That was yesterday. It's the drugs, Chief. They make you forget. When you're up to it, I'll tell you. There's no rush." Rubbing his hand along his arm, he whispered, "Close your eyes for me." 

"Okay." Energy drained, Blair let himself drift back into the safety of darkness, led by the soft voice of his sentinel. "Talk to me, Jim." 

"I love you, Blair Sandburg. I should've said it ages ago." 

"Yeah?" The word curled out shy and sleepy. 

"Yeah. You're it for me, Chief. No matter what, we're together forever. You're stuck with me." 

"Stuck's cool, man." 

"Very." Jim rested his chin on coupled hands and then turned to lock on every cell whizzing around the universe of Blair. He let each sense become a guardian as he catalogued the thousands of scents and flavors of his guide, the almond of his skin, the deep orange of his breath. Husky whispers moaned deep in his ears as each touch of his cheek scraped against tender stretch of arm and shoulder. Staring into the security of teasing airy brown wisps he found himself pausing only briefly to bring all sensation together. He loved the man, the guide, the partner. Yeah, stuck was definitely cool. 

* * *

Stepping back to the window, Blair leaned there, resting his forehead against the coolness of the glass. Two weeks later and he still had no idea in his own reality about what had happened to him. He'd read the police report, heard Jim's words, seen the pictures. God, the pictures. 

"Chief, you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired." He couldn't bring himself to share the hollow space puffing through his chest. 

"Why don't you come sit down? I think we need to talk." 

Blair turned instead and walked to the kitchen. Reaching up, he opened the cabinet and retrieved a mug. Silently he poured hot water and started seeping the tea. "Chief? Don't shut me down here." 

"I'm not. I just can't talk about this." 

"We have to. Not talking is making it worse." Stiffening, Blair pushed down the swelling anger and tried to count to ten, long even breaths between each number. By the time he'd reached five, Jim's hand on his shoulder sent him to the far edge of the counter. "Please, don't touch me right now." 

"I'm sorry. I'm just not sure what to do here." The pain in his best friend's thick voice startled him. 

"I'm sorry, too. This is really hard, Jim. My head is pounding because all I do is sit around trying to pull away this huge black shroud that's covering up this pit in my memory. It's like somebody just turned out a light whenever I try to see what happened. Nothing's there and it should be." 

"It's okay not to remember." 

"No, it's not okay, man." He slammed his fist against the wall. "It pisses me off. I mean, I saw the fucking pictures for godsakes." 

"That was probably a mistake." 

"Why? They're on public record. Any asshole can see them." 

"That's not true, Chief." 

"It doesn't make any difference. It might as well be somebody else because my brain just can't take it in. It's not real. But it is. Man, do you have any idea how fucking terrifying it is to know that something like that could happen and then you can't remember it?" 

Jim stepped within arm's reach, but no further. "Yeah, I do, Chief." 

"Come on, Jim. You think you know what it's like to be violated like that?" 

"Blair, listen. Just settle down for a minute and hear me out. Think about it. Don't you think I of all people understand what it's like to have chunks of your life gone, whole vital sections missing in action?" 

Awareness washed over him like rain at a winter funeral. "Damn. I'm so stupid. Your time in Peru and when you forgot about Bud and Lila. Shit, how can I be so fucking dumb?" He leaned forward, his hair hanging down to cover the anguish that warped his features. 

"You're not stupid, Blair. What happened to you was awful, but you can survive. I hate seeing you like this. Please, let me hold you." 

Head still down, the younger man nodded, and found himself wrapped in a massive hug, his head resting over a pounding heart beat. After a few minutes, his muscles relaxed, the anger fading. 

"Want to sit down now, Chief?" A large hand rubbed the top of the curls and ran his fingers lightly through silky strands. Blair swam in the warm sensation of Jim's body holding him, guarding against the grip of his own fears, filling the empty places with his strength. 

"Sure. I could sit." After they walked over to the couch, they settled down together, Blair leaning back into his sentinel's embrace. 

"Jim, which do you think is worse, remembering or not remembering?" 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." 

"This is the first time I've ever had anything like this happen." 

"God, I hope it's the only time, too." Jim held him a bit more tightly, tenderly massaging his chest. 

"I agree, but those times when you got those memories back, how did it feel? Was it better not remembering or after you did?" Several minutes passed in silence. "Jim?" 

"I'm thinking." 

"Oh, sorry." 

"No, it's just that I don't know how to answer that. When I didn't remember, I really didn't worry about it. In fact, thinking back there were times when I almost recalled something and I would get this terrible headache. I was sort of like my body saying oh no you don't, a warning to stay in the dark. But then when I finally did remember some of the awful things that happened, it wasn't so bad. It hurt at first, but then it was actually better." 

"Better? How?" 

"Better because I didn't feel like I was losing my mind. You know it's like the zone outs. I don't remember what happens all the time then either. It's scary when your own mind tricks you. You feel betrayed." 

Turning, Blair stared in awe at the man who held him. "You are so cool." 

Puzzled, but pleased, Jim smiled. "Cool, huh? How come?" 

"Because that's exactly how I'm feeling, but I just didn't know how to say it." 

"Come on, Chief. You're the word master here." 

"Sometimes, but not about this." He repositioned himself to rest his forehead right in the middle of Jim's broad chest. Full cuddle mode started. "I really love you." 

"I love you, too." 

A few more minutes passed before Blair's voice asked softly, "So, Henderson's really dead?" 

"Yeah, Blair he is. Irony finally won out. He broke the rules enough times and it finally killed him. He thought he could get away with hurting you and he almost did. He bought his crazy ass son's way out of a psych ward and the crazy ass son paid him back by literally stabbing him in the heart. Sounds like a cosmic justice plan to me." 

"Maybe." 

Hearing the sad hesitation, Jim put a hand on both sides of his guide's face and pulled him back. 

"Okay, what is it?" 

"I don't know how to feel about it. I know what everyone said he did, but now he's dead and it's all like some sick nightmare. Only I can't wake up. It scares me. Being scared sucks." 

Snorting slightly at the simple truth, Jim kissed his friend gently on the forehead and the hugged him again. "Yeah, it does. How about we work at not being so scared together?" 

Snuggling in closer, Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's middle. He drank in the rich heat pouring off the body. "God, I love doing this with you. Could we just sort of stay like this forever?" 

"As long as it takes, babe. As long as it takes." 

Nestled in his partner's embrace, Blair Sandburg discovered the future. Love gained salvation and married the sentinel's heart to the shaman's spirit, a covenant forged with the strength of passion and tempered with the fall of tears. 

* * *

End Power Trip.

 


End file.
